


Morning

by not_a_heartthrob_my_ass



Series: Peter Capaldi x female reader oneshots [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, RPF, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 07:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5038978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_a_heartthrob_my_ass/pseuds/not_a_heartthrob_my_ass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lazy morning at home with Peter.</p>
<p>(These are in a series for me to keep organized, they're stand-alones and can be read in any order)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is RPF, real person fan fiction. Not meant to offend, just a bit of fun. Don't like, don't read.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr under not-a-heartthrob-my-ass and you're more than welcome to request fics!

You wait for Peter to finish his coffee, and he smiles sleepily at you from over the border of the mug as he puts it down. You grin back, watching his face as he blinks slowly.

Lazy mornings like this are your favourite: unshaven, minutes after waking up, hair still dishevelled and eyes still squinty with drowsiness, he looks at peace, not a care in the world.

“Better now?” you ask as you get up and collect his empty mug.

He can’t really function before his morning coffee, particularly if he has overslept like today.

“Much better,” he murmurs, voice still a bit rough from just having gotten out of bed.

You allow yourself a caress of your free hand through his long hair, placing a kiss on top of his head as he leans into your touch. You circle him to face the sink and start washing the few things from your breakfast and his.

You hear him stand up and in a moment his arms are around your waist, holding you gently. The contact sends a pleasant shiver up your spine. You love how tactile he is, especially when he’s relaxed.

“Slept well, love?”

“Mmmh. Yeah, so well.”

His arms tighten delightfully around you and he presses his front against your back. That’s when you feel him, invitingly hard in his trousers, grinding almost involuntarily against you with a murmur of satisfaction. The warm water running on your palms becomes abruptly cool as a rush of heat spreads up your spine.

“ _Ah_ , we’re awake, I see.”

You smirk in spite of yourself as you dry the last mug. You hand trembles a little when he presses a wet kiss to the side of your neck.

“Want you,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin.

You feel goose bumps cover every inch of you and you tilt your head to the side, welcoming the touch of his lips. He kisses a path to your jaw, wet lips and warm tongue on sensitive flesh, up to your earlobe, where he bites gently, making you gasp softly. His hips press harder against your arse and his hands shift, one slipping under your shirt, caressing your bare belly with light, delicate touch, his fingertips tracing small circles, and the other finding the waistband of your pyjama bottoms and twisting it between his index and middle finger.

“Yeah?” he breathes out, asking permission, his fingers already dipping further down, teasing, making your abdominals contract.

“Yes. Please.”

You almost can’t trust your voice. Oh, the things this man does to you.

Peter smiles against your skin, starting to explore your neck more thoroughly, sucking gently, leaving tiny marks on you, drawing little moans from your lips.

Your knees go weak but he holds you fast between the kitchen counter and his solid body, gasping in turn at the friction of your arse on him. His hand slips down your trousers eagerly, almost impatiently, and he inhales sharply in finding you wet already. It never ceases to surprise you and him equally, how ready you always are for each other.

Two of his fingers tease you briefly, gathering some of your wetness before moving over your clit with practiced ease, slow circles and light pressure making you rock your hips into the motion. His other hand finds your left breast, squeezing gently, his thumb tormenting your nipple, feeling it harden under his fingertip, making you both hiss with satisfaction.

His mouth grows more insistent where your neck meets your shoulder, and he nuzzles against your shirt, trying to uncover more skin, more of you for him to see and kiss and feel. He kisses the fabric and lightly tugs at it with his teeth as the movements of his hands become faster, more urgent, eliciting a moan from you that has him thrust hard into your bum in response.

“Sorry, need this off,” he half-pleads.

You nearly whimper at the loss when his hand leaves your clit to join his other at the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head hastily. You lift your arms to let him take the shirt off you and toss it on the floor and he wastes no time, his large palms cupping your bare breasts, massaging them as he starts to place frantic kisses at the top of your spine. You moan his name and cover his hands with yours, desperately needing to touch some part of him, any part of him.

He seems to understand this, quickly changing his position, turning you around, facing him, and lifting you on the counter just next to the sink with limited effort.

“ _Peter_.”

He catches his name in your mouth by covering it with his in a passionate kiss, his hands cupping your face, your legs parting instinctively and then tightening around his slim waist, pulling him hard against you. You both groan in the kiss at the sensation and he slides one arm lower, hand on your arse, demanding you closer. His tongue slips into your mouth and his kiss is slow but enthusiastic, it makes you feel hot and satisfied but at the same time longing for more. You swallow each other’s sounds as your hands find their place in his hair, keeping him close, and on his arse, encouraging him, pushing him harder into you.

Peter breaks the kiss and you take advantage of it to quickly get rid of his shirt, getting his chest naked on yours, caressing his bare back as you exchange brief, sloppy kisses. You feel him shudder under your touch. His hand returns to the waistband of your trousers, pulling, fiddling, and you try to shift and angle your hips enough for him to have your trousers off, stepping out of the warm circle of your thighs only to let the item fall on the floor.

You shiver at the cool air on your heated skin, but the sensation is soon forgotten when Peter slips one of his long, expert fingers inside you and it feels like you’ve been waiting for this moment for centuries. Pleasure spreads through your nerves, and you search for his mouth again, cupping his face as he moves slowly inside you. You’re slick and open for him, your fingers closing around his wrist in a plea for more. Another finger joins the first easily and he begins a fast rhythm, building your pleasure, holding you fast against him as he kisses down your neck, your collarbones, your breasts. His hips are pressed against the back of his hand, following its pace, fucking you through his fingers.

He buries his fingers inside you up to the knuckles, brushing against your most sensitive spot before withdrawing, a perfect motion repeated over and over, that makes you close your eyes and bite your lower lip, a rush of wetness and a clench of muscles at each stroke of him, heat pooling at your belly, crackling up your spine.

“ _Fuck_. Peter.”

You need more of him, so much more, and you quickly push and pull at his trousers until they’ve pooled around his ankles. You allow him to kick them off, somewhat clumsily, his fingers inside you but frustratingly still now that his focus his elsewhere, on your hands cupping his arse and palming his cock, hard and leaking. His body is gorgeous. You’ll never get tired of feeling him, touching him, memorizing every curve and line of him.

Peter hums in pleasure at your touch and you kiss sweetly now as your hands join around his prick, guiding him inside you, while his hand still wet with you settles on your hip. He enters you carefully, smoothly, your hands back on his buttocks, pushing him inside you up to the hilt, your hips touching, his cock filling you up, taking your breath away, making your muscles contract hard around him.

Quick words whispered between the two of you, how good it feels, how much you need this, how much you love him, this, everything you make each other feel and how it never seems to fade no matter how much time passes, you want each other like it’s the first time, invariably.

His arms wound tight around your waist, he starts moving, controlled and steady at first, then harder, faster when you beg for it, your fingers tangled in his hair, damp with sweat, more sweet nothings murmured in your ear and filthy ones purred into the hollow of his throat, committing to memory his every groan and losing track of the sounds you make. His mouth always returning to yours, the heat burning your nerves and the trembling of his body, the gorgeous blush he gets when he’s close to orgasm, you love it all, wouldn’t change it for the world.

The tension that tightens at your core, the pressure, the sweet and slow burn of your orgasm building, he can feel all that, can feel you tight now around his cock, forcing him to thrust harder, and his fingers find your clit again without need for you to ask. Fast circles, rubbed hard, with urgency, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, until you’re crying out and uttering his name softly, just for him to hear, and it’s a matter of seconds before he groans his release, thrusting through your orgasm, stilling abruptly as his body shakes.

You both forget to breathe for a while, before you start panting into each other sweated skin and slides out of you. Peter presses light, grateful kisses onto your shoulder, his body trembling against yours, his weight leaning on you.

You lean back to accommodate him, embracing him tenderly, tracing lazy patters on his back with your fingers, patting his damp curls.

”You’re perfect,” you murmur, and he looks up at you with misty blue eyes.

”You are.”

”Mmmh.”

”I love you.”

”Love you, too.”

He caresses your outer thighs, letting more weight on you. If his knees are in any way as weak as yours, you’re surprised he’s still standing. You’re perfectly content with sitting on the counter, even though your body feels so limp right now that you’re probably going to get stuck to it.

You move experimentally, also trying to give Peter more space, and you discover that the edge of the counter has been digging into the backs of your thighs, and it’s actually quite painful now that you’ve moved. You bear it for a while more, holding Peter against you, his head quite pleasantly resting between your breasts, his breath slowing down, but you eventually try to gently push him off you so you can get down.

“Peter?”

”Mh?” He kisses a spot on your sternum, mostly ignoring your hand pushing at the front of his shoulder.

”Get off me, my arse hurts,” you argue, smiling at how relaxed he is. He makes no move to shift, however, and chuckles lightly, looking into your eyes with a playful spark. “Peter. _Get off_.”

“I just did.”

There’s a moment of silence during which you can feel him bite his lower lip and you brain slowly realizes what he has just said, before he starts snickering, face buried into the crook of your neck.

“Oh my God. Why do I even keep you around?” you wonder aloud, trying so hard not to give into a giggling fit that you end up snorting loudly.

“You’re laughing,” he points out in between slightly hysteric giggles.

“Am not.”

“Are so.”

You’re chuckling. You hate him just a little.

“Fuck you, Capaldi.”

A pause.

“You just did,” he replies with absolute seriousness, just before giggling like a schoolboy.

Your subsequent scream of frustration -mixed with a tiny bit of affection- is probably heard by the whole neighbourhood.


End file.
